Wizarding Genetics
by nicomaarista
Summary: We're like a married couple, but both of us have separate ambitions and personalities that don't mesh well, so we've stopped talking to each other. My magic's not boycotting me...We just don't have anything in common anymore...
1. Chapter 1

_Wizarding Genetics_

**Author Note:**  
I'm going to warn readers now rather than later. Harry in this story is so OC, the books and movies are merely reference. All cannon-shippers should, obviously, leave now or forever hold their peace. And I do mean the hold your peace part. All complainers have obviously not read this note. Therefore, they will be, as kindly as possible, redirected here with a review response. I would appreciate any complaints about Harry's character be as polite and meaningful as possible.

In summary: No I hate how OC Harry is, and no, *insert whine and pout combo*, He's too mean!

I do hope you enjoy this story. I ve been thinking about it for a while, and four months of summer vacation has finally allowed me the stress-free time to start writing it. ^_^

**Chapter 1:** Punctuate and Capitalize

Harry Potter enters his Potions class the same way he has for the past month; shoulders slumping, gaze averted. One may ask why the Savior of the Wizarding World isn t holding his head so high Professor Snape can see right up his nostrils; especially when just two months ago, Harry Potter finally, FINALLY, defeated The Dark Lord. Was his fame so short-lived it faded with the fear? The sneers certainly don t deny the thought.

"Mr. Potter."

"Yes, Professor?"

"I want you to forget about today s lesson." Did he just say that?

"Yes, sir."

"Instead, you re going to spend the two hours reading this. It s not too long, so you should have time to both read and write a 12 inch paper. I don t care what you write. Just don t give me something trite." The 'like usual' goes unsaid.

"Yes, sir."

"In the office."

Harry grabs the slender hardcover that's probably nothing more than 100 pages, and walks into Professor Snape's private office; trying to ignore the irritating snickers. There are a lot of classes Harry's forgotten . He's been kicked out of Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfigurations They say he's been exempted, but Harry knows better. He's been edited from the roster. He doesn't even know why Professor Snape insists on him continuing Potions. It s not like he's doing any practicals. He's just reading numerous texts and writing numerous essays. Sure he's smarter, but he doesn't get the point.

Harry sits at the desk set up for him, and quietly observes the book.

"Wizarding Genetics? Why the hell am I reading this?"

The hardcover text is noticeably old, judging by the elaborately decorated cover (gold etching), and gold-leafing. For a couple minutes, Harry worries the pages will crumble beneath his fingers, but he discovers that despite the age, it's very well preserved. He takes some time to analyze the pictures and assess the chapters before he flips back to the introduction.  
He's immediately engrossed in the theories of Professor Adam H. Eckleburt.

Time passed with the softest whisper. When Snape walked into his office, Harry was still annotating. When Professor Snape looked over Harry s shoulder, he was surprised to see nearly four times his requirement.

Potter.

Scratch scratch scratch.

Potter.

Scratch pause scratch.

Potter!

Long fingers swipe the book while thin lips try hard not to smile. Harry looked up like his favorite toy was just confiscated.

"So sorry to interrupt..." Not. "Are you finished?"

Harry looked down at his numerous papers to see numerous phrases, drawings, arrows, and theories. He did not, however, see a single logical twelve inch section he could use as his essay. He spent so much time taking notes, he completely forgot the assignment.

"Um...Can I...I mean, I didn't...I was so engrossed in the book, and..."

Snape rolled his eyes, and once again worked hard to prevent a smile.

"Absolutely hopeless, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Organize those sheets and hand them in."

The notes were, much to Snape's surprise, filled with numerous intelligent questions and witty comments.

"Have you read these?"

"I didn't really have the time, sir."

"Well it seems you understand the text. Explain."

"I'm disconnected from my magic. At least, that's what the text says. My magic's saying one thing, and I'm saying another. We're like a married couple, but both of us have separate ambitions and personalities that don't mesh well, so we've stopped talking to each other. My magic's not boycotting me...We just don't have anything in common anymore, so I can't reach it. Is this...Is this permanent?"

"No. It's just not easy. The way I see it, your magic's already suffered enough just so you can be what you need to be to defeat the Dark Lord. It's not going to come back so easily. The one thing magic hates, is being used inappropriately."

"That's what I don't understand. Isn't magic just magic?"

"There are different affinities. Pompfrey's is healing. Mine is attack and creativity, and McGonagall's is defense and creativity. The Dark Lord's is what we call destroyer magic. Destroyer magic is innately cruel and Dark. Do you remember how you destroyed the Dark Lord?"

"He...Exploded..."

"I can't say I know exactly what type of magic you have, but I can certainly tell you it's not nice and unassuming like you pretend to be. What I want you to do is spend two weeks thinking about yourself. Don't come to class. Find a quiet place and think of everything in your life and how you feel. Record your thoughts. At the end of the two weeks, come and see me."

"Is this why you insist on me coming to class? You knew about this?"

"I wanted to be sure."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me until you're fixed, brat. Be gone."

Harry grabbed his stuff and walked out with a tiny wave. A tiny sliver of guilt niggled Professor Snape. He lied when he said he didn't know what kind of wizard Harry is. He just wants the boy to figure it out on his own, or he'll never accept it.

Just two weeks...Two weeks until the dawn of a new era, and the wizarding world falls to its knees.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:** Self Actualization -- Part 1

"Think about myself…Think about myself…I don't think I've had a selfish thought since Aunt Petunia beat them out of me."

Two weeks later, Harry's still trying to rationalize through his illness. If he can't connect with his magic, then he's not being himself, because your magic chooses you. Wizards are the only ones who get to choose something about them they'll actually like. It's kind of neat. Well…Except that the wizard doesn't choose the something. The something chooses the wizard. None of that's important, though.

"The first time I was dishonest with myself was with the sorting hat, but houses can't be that important, can they? A house is just a house." He's kidding, right? House rivalry at Hogwarts leaves a wake so devastating, not even the muggle World Cup can compare.

* * *

"So what have you discovered?"

"That the assignment was rigged. I can't fix myself by reflecting. There aren't enough incidents in the day. Not to mention, I've been the way I am for years. I won't suddenly know the difference between what's authentic and what isn't. I need to know which feelings to look for; which thoughts I should pay attention to and which ones I should ignore. You couldn't have expected me to complete the assignment successfully."

"And I didn't. You're right in saying that the assignment was rigged. The main purpose was to kill any arrogant thought you may have you are capable of deciding what's real and what isn't by yourself. This way, when I read your core, you won't immediately storm out."

"So how are you going to…read my core?"

"Legilimancy. It's rather nonviolent. It just feels strange; like another soul in your body alongside your own soul. The legilimancy I've practiced on you is like flipping through a picture book. The memories are private to you, but I am ripping through them as if they were mere pages in a book. So it feels cold and violent. Reading your core is more invasive in that I am "seeing" you. I'm not seeing pictures; I'm seeing feelings in colors. Its effectiveness requires physical touch. Without it, your core will reject me."

"Alright. So what? We're holding hands?"

"Not quite, Mr. Potter." Do get your minds out the gutter.

* * *

Not boring you with full details of Professor Snape's entry (no puns intended), I will only say that it was indeed quick and painless. Harry merely experienced the creepy feeling of being watched, and the warmth of Professor Snape's hands, feet, and legs touching his own.

"You have a very interesting core, Potter."

"Wonderful."

"You just interest the wrong people."

"Yeah, well, my life tends to suck that way. People say fame is this fabulous thing; that I should appreciate all its benefits, but all I see are sacrifices. I've sacrificed my privacy, my goals…Not to mention everyone expected me to sacrifice my life. All of this sacrificing for what…Mocking grins, useless newspaper articles, and reporters who don't seem to have the proper definition of "no" in their vocabulary banks?"

"That's funny coming from you, Potter. If your numerous sacrifices aren't worth it, how can you manage to smile?"

"Well I can't exactly frown, can I? Not when Dumbledore takes me away from the Dursleys at the end of every summer and lets me play wizard here. It's like a strange sort of exchange. I risk my life in order to have a good one. In my mind, was magical only because Voldemort fucked up. As soon as he's gone, I'm going to lose my magic, and get shipped off to the Dursleys. Then my fear came true that day in Transfigurations..."

"So how did you expect to survive, Potter? Did you think you would live your life ignoring the fact that you hate the Wizarding World for using you, a child, as a sacrificial lamb?"

"I don't…"

"Yes you do. I'm reading you, remember?"

" Well what about you? You spied for the order yet you were supposed to be spying for Voldemort."

"That is hardly something I want to discuss."

"Hey. I discussed mine. It's only fair."

"I will remind you that Slytherins don't play fair, but I suppose this secret won't hurt. As long as it stays strictly between the two of us."

"Agreed." Maybe.

"The only part I regret about joining Lord Voldemort, is not reading more into his ideals. I don't believe in pureblood supremacy, so much as I believe in wizard supremacy, and henceforth, muggle inferiority."

"But that's…"

"Spare me the lecture on muggleborns and mudbloods, Potter. It's a load of tripe. There are wizards everywhere who live with vile, hateful muggles. That is how the Dark Lord came to exist. He grew up with muggles and grew to have the misguided thought that pureblood supremacy is the way to make sure his past doesn't become some unborn wizard's future. Unfortunately, his goals included people like MacNair and millions of muggles lying dead in the streets of England. Not quite what I wanted, so I defected. In the end, I want the same thing; ensuring the safety of every wizard."

"I don't know what to say."

"You can start by saying you agree."

"But…"

"Still reading. What's interesting is that nearly every thought you have is a lie so deeply ingrained even Veritaserum won't penetrate it. Fortunately for you, I have a potion that will allow your magical core full reign of your personality. It's not going to be pleasant for you. Mostly because you're going to discover parts of your personality you most definitely will not like. You'll just have to grow up and learn to accept it."

Professor Snape gave Harry a look that said he doubted the Gryffindor could manage that last part, so Harry responded with his typical Gryffindor response and all but snatched the potion out his hand. He took the four drops Professor Snape limited him to, and immediately decided he doesn't feel any different.

"You won't feel it immediately. Your magic needs time to take over, so it'll happen overnight."

"Then you mean..."

"Yes, Potter. When morning comes, you will be what genetics dictated you to be."

"Can't wait."

**Author Note:** Please tell me if there's too much dialogue or if the dialogue gets a bit boring in places. I'm trying something with my writing, and would really like to see if its working, so comments on dialogue, grammar, and awkwardness would be greatly appreciated. ^_^

**Review Responses:** All reviews will be responded to in approximately 5 minutes.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – Peeling Onions with Lucius Malfoy

Severus watches Harry walk through the office doorway and sighs. A deep loneliness seems to come over him. It might be a sad thought, but lately, Harry's been the most interesting thing in the Potions Master's life.

"Perhaps I should go to a convention this winter…"

He ponders the idea for a few moments, but realizes that there aren't really any good ones coming up. There's the one on Ashwinder Eggs, but he's already seen it twice. The one on the medicinal purposes of Dragon tongue seems interesting, but he's familiar with the researcher and doesn't want to put himself through the profligate fabrications. It just makes him cranky and depressed.

"The Wolfsbane could use some work…"

While Professor Snape considers the many defects of the Wolfsbane Potion, he walks into his private room; unaware of the blonde sitting on his couch.

"I would need something to offset the added potency…"

It isn't until strong arms wrap themselves around his waist, Professor Snape realizes he left his rooms unprotected in his haste and invited Lucius Malfoy in.

"Sevvy…" ugh. "I missed you…"

I'm sure you're all lost right now, so let's see if I can help you catch up. Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy have been in a hopelessly dead-end relationship for almost a year. No, Lucius Malfoy is not divorced. No, he doesn't intend to get divorced, and yes…Severus has given up any hope he had of having his lover to himself. Especially when there are such long spaces of time where they don't see each other.

"What do you want, Lucius?"

"How cold, my love…And here I thought time makes the heart grow fonder."

"Three months." Jackass.

"'Cissa's starting to get suspicious." So what?

"So you decided it was okay to toss me aside for your precious wife?" Jackass.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I've never given you anything to suggest intent to divorce my wife. My body needs you, but my heart needs her." I'm a player. So sue me.

"It's been three months, hasn't it? Obviously you don't need me as much as you say you do. Why do you keep torturing me? Why do you put me through this agony when you know that at some point in our relationship, I fell for you? " I was a fool. A spineless, willing fool. Snape stares at the wall ahead of him, trying to find some semblance of strength in the evenness.

"Look at me, Sevvy. Tell me what's wrong."

"Over and over I tell you what's wrong. I look at you and you look away. I use words and you give me the same old tripe."

"But…"

"Get out."

"Se-"

"Get. Out." There's a coldness in the words that frighten Lucius.

The blonde doesn't offer a response, 'cause before he can give one, the room flings its door open and tosses him out on his rear. The look of sheer rage does little to please Snape, but it's certainly a start.

"You're right. Nothing has changed. I was a fool to give my heart to someone who never gave me his. Go back to your 'Cissa, Lucius. Never darken my doorstep again." Slam!

Severus stares at the door for a while. Just like he found strength in the wall, he finds strength in the solid oak. Never again will it open for scum.

* * *

_"Why are my feet so cold…"_

A bleary, green gaze looks over a lightly tan shoulder and discovers that half his legs are missing blanket. A glimmer of annoyance flickers in the gaze. Now their owner will have to wake up, move the blanket to cover the rest of his feet, and try to go back to sleep.

_"Damnit."_

Harry turns and sees a convenient little clock telling him it's not only six a.m, it's Saturday. So of course, he's even _more_ annoyed, 'cause really…what sane person wakes up at six on a Saturday? Not to mention, if he moves to shift the blanket, he won't be able to go back to sleep, 'cause heaven forbid the-boy-who-bloody-lived-twice get a good night's rest without waking up cold.

Harry grumbles for a while about his misfortune and tries to sleep through the cold, but the 30 mph howling winds, and his frost-bitten toes wish him luck.

Harry grumbles some more. He'd long ago given up on the idea of sleeping in, anyway.

Legs slide out from under the blanket and slide into fuzzy slippers.

_"Are these…too small?"_

Harry stares and discovers that they are indeed, suddenly too small for his feet. It wasn't spelled shrunken…And unless by some freak phenomenon, he's spontaneously grown bigger feet…

"You've got to be kidding me."

He takes his school shoe and puts it beside his foot only to find that it too has mysteriously become too small. His sneakers…His slippers…His school shoes…

"What the hell does this change exactly come with?"

"Hmm…Harry…?"

"It's alright, Nev. I'm fine. Go back to sleep."

"Mmm…"

As quietly as he can, Harry lifts himself up and tiptoes into the bathroom to see what else has inconveniently changed. What he sees in the mirror leaves him absolutely baffled, yet oddly excited, so all he can say, is…

"I look hot!"

Ten minutes later, Harry's still admiring himself in the mirror. The long hair...The new hazel eyes that people can no longer relate to his mother...The big feet...Well maybe not the big feet necessarily, but the height that comes with it. He must've grown half a foot overnight!

"Are those highlights blue?"

Harry tried to calm his newfound vanity, but couldn't seem to get over the change. There aren't many times Harry's been able to admire his own appearance. Usually, he just kind of fusses with his hair a bit, showers, and throws on whatever his hands grab first. For once, he actually wants to go...shopping...

"How weird. I hope I'm not going to be like Malfoy and spend three hours primping." Same here.

Harry shrugs, and goes to take a shower. Thinking on how well everything's going so far, he can't help but remember Professor Snape's words of warning and wait for the other shoe to drop.

"What could I possibly hate?"

At that moment, Harry looks down to wash his feet, and sees the most interesting tattoo. He checks the rest of his body to see if there are more, and sees that not only is there more, they aren't all the same: one on each ankle and one on each wrist.

"Fuck." Oh…That other shoe...

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